


Cracking

by Siver



Series: Final Fantasy VI/Ghost Trick [5]
Category: Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, FFVI GT AU, Final Fantasy VI AU, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-04 16:38:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17901710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siver/pseuds/Siver
Summary: They've returned to Figaro while on the trail of Sissel. They've returned home, but he can't return to an old life.Ghost Trick Final Fantasy VI AU.





	Cracking

Alma marched purposefully ahead across the sands, Lynne and Missile close behind. Cabanela strayed behind and came to a rare halt at the sight ahead. There was Figaro Castle, rising above the sands and achingly familiar.

A memory surfaced. Air and sand passing in a blur as he raced Alma back to the castle, their chocobos’ long strides eating the ground. Jowd’s laughter when they all made it. He always caught up quickly with a dry remark that it was just as well he had no one to take bets with as it was always up to anyone’s guess as to a winner.

Jowd wasn’t here now and Alma stopped with a look shot back his way. It wasn’t the teasing look of the past in those times she got ahead. There was suspicion now and the same sharpness she wore since Narshe. Jowd’s absence felt more pronounced than ever; he was supposed to bring him back. He was supposed to bring him back to her.

“We shouldn’t be stopping,” Alma said pointedly.

Cabanela shook himself and covered the distance between them. Alma said nothing more.

It was a strained silence that followed the group, yet despite that, as they approached the main gate Cabanela felt a rising joy. It wasn’t the arrival he dreamed of, nowhere near, but he was back. Home…

“Your Majesty!” one of the guards at the gate exclaimed. “It’s good to see you safe.”

“Were there any further problems?” Alma asked.

“No, Your Majesty, and no sign of more trouble from the Empire yet.” His gaze passed over the group and stopped on Cabanela. “Erm, is he…?

“A guest,” Alma cut in calmly.

Cabanela shot her a questioning look. Only a guest? But Alma was already passing through the entrance inside and he followed after.

They stopped in the hall and Cabanela found himself staring once again. Three long years since last he’d been here and looking at the familiar wall tapestries, those years felt longer and heavier. It had been too long.

“Do you mind if I break off here?” Lynne asked.

There was a long pause then it was Alma who seemed to have to shake herself from a reverie. Was she too remembering past times or was it something else?

“No,” she said faintly before her tone strengthened. “No, of course not. We’ll see you at dinner.”

“Right,” Lynne said with a worried look at her. “Well… come on Missile!”

“ _Yes Miss Lynne. Oh it’s good to be back. Do you think I can go to the kitchens?”_

The pair trailed away, leaving Alma and Cabanela alone.

“Your rooms still remain,” Alma said.

“That’s greeeat to hear,” Cabanela replied. And a great relief.

“This way.” And without further word Alma took off down the hall again.

Cabanela fell in step with her. “You know I’m always happy for your company, but I haven’t been gone so looong I’ve forgotten my way.” Could he ever forget anything about Figaro? “And you no douuubt have plenty to tend to.”

“It’s not a problem,” Alma replied coolly.

_Not the impression I’m gettin’, baby._

Once more a barrier rose between them. He wasn’t sure he could say it ever lowered and he tried to comfort himself with the knowledge that they’d have the chance to speak that evening. Once they could speak they could clear the air. Everything would be better then.

They passed through the hall. Alma was subject to many joyful looks. Cabanela saw confusion aimed his way and he was certain disgust from at least a couple passing nobles. If he looked as he felt he wasn’t sure he could entirely blame them. The sooner he made it to his rooms and hot clean water the better.

He didn’t have long to wait. Alma stopped at his door and something of the silence grew even more awkward until Alma spoke.

“Someone will come for you when dinner is ready.”

Once again an unnecessary escort, not that Alma had been unwelcome. “I can find my waaay on my own baby. No need for that.”

“If you really think that I don’t know what to tell you,” Alma said flatly. She nodded toward the door and he didn’t think her voice could grow any colder; he was wrong. “Don’t let me keep you.”

Cabanela gripped the door handle, searching Alma’s expression for any hint of her old warmth and found nothing. Later, they would talk later in privacy. The draw of privacy now and Figaro’s excellent plumbing couldn’t be resisted.

He softened his voice. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

Alma’s expression tightened, but she said nothing and remained until Cabanela entered.

 

Cabanela was met with another wave of familiarity as he closed the door behind him. There was less joy than his past entrances brought, but here it all was and it looked more welcoming than ever.

His gaze passed over the fine floor rugs, the small table in the centre, the neatly made bed, the wardrobe and adjoining room where a bath would wait. He breathed out a sigh of relief. It wouldn’t be a long stay, but he was _back._

He made for the wardrobe first. Alma said his rooms had been left, and so he hoped his old clothing had been as well. He’d left with nothing but food, water and his blade before, urgency propelling him and only Kamila’s safety on his mind. He flipped open the wardrobe and smiled at the tidy row of outfits before him—a silver lining years later.

With a casual flip through—anything would be better than the drab ragged excuse for clothing he wore now—he chose an outfit and laid it out on the bed for later.

The bathroom called and he was all too happy to answer. He went to the mirror first and did a double take before cringing. The lack of recognition and even outright disgust aimed his way made more sense. The incoming beard had been driving him crazy; seeing it made it no better. His blind attempts to fix his hair looked to have only made it worse and he irritably brushed it out of his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time. Eyes that seemed sunken and shadowed stared at him from a pale face. His mouth twisted; he looked sick and as tired as he felt.

And not as bad as he could or did look, came the stray thought and with it the memory of the impact and sickening crunch, the fresh explosion of pain, helplessly choking on his own blood… Deep breath… He forced himself to focus on the mirror, the clear and present unbroken sight before him. He had his work cut out for him. It wasn’t the time to dwell on pointless memories.

And the damned beard came first. One among them wore it well and it wasn’t him. There was a pleasure to be taken in the straight forward act of shaving. He relaxed as he progressed. It was a return to normality.

Finished, he smiled as he surveyed himself, feeling a bit better already. A bath and sorting out his hair would complete the deal. A lovely dinner waited and Alma… He would finally get to speak with her one-on-one. Everything was looking up.

Bless Figaro’s plumbing, he thought as he sunk into the tub full of hot water, soothing against aching limbs. He only basked briefly before turning his attention to the more important task of finally feeling clean. An act of simplicity and a welcome one, a long way away from prison cells and ships. Simple…

Until his eyes and fingers caught on the pale jagged edges of a scar across his thigh. He found another at his side and stared in horrified fascination. Neither had been clean injuries and that was all he could guess at. He abruptly rose from the bath, ignoring the water he splashed out in his haste for the mirror.

Twisting round revealed more scars at his back, a long ridge there, something smaller nearby, another fainter one he couldn’t guess at the cause of. This was all wrong. How? He knew his body well and a swift search of his memories yielded him nothing by way of explanation. He avoided close combat as much as necessity would allow. Old sparring matches could lead to bruises yes, but nothing more. Nothing explained this.

He stared at the mirror. No answers to be found there in the haggard face that stared back, only more mysteries.

How… The torture? That had been most concentrated at his face and these seemed older. He knew he lost consciousness more than once and he couldn’t be sure of his full awareness in the times between. It was all a nightmarish blur. Could something have happened he hadn’t been aware of? He absently rubbed his arm. Not everything had been left. Would healing cause such things?

He retreated back to the bath and a shiver passed through him despite the water’s warmth. Everything was supposed to start getting better now he was back. Everything around him seemed to be falling away and losing all sense.

Unknown scars, Alma’s coldness, the caught looks from Lynne that seemed to vary from suspicion to confusion, the sudden invasion of South Figaro. What had he missed and _how?_ When did his life become an ill-fitting puzzle? 

He brushed a hand over his side letting a cure dance off it—another mystery, but at least a helpful one. It did nothing of course, not for wounds already healed. But what wounds were they? What had been _done_ to him and how could he possibly not _know?_

He sunk back, almost submerging completely and slowed his breath. Let the water ease away his tension and the growing fear.

So, he had a lot of unknowns, but there had to be answers. And some of those answers he could get this very evening in talking to Alma. And for that he had to be presentable. One thing at a time and taking care of himself now was something he could do. He went at it with a single-mindedness, leaving no room for other worries, until he felt more alive and could give his hair the same attention.

His transformation was almost complete as he combed, trimmed and styled his hair back into place. He frowned at the mirror as he combed back the grey, constraining it to his temples. It was still doable—there was that to be said—but how was there noticeably more? As preoccupied as he'd been with Jowd he couldn't have missed this. Or everything else...

Why did it feel as though his body wasn’t his anymore?

A feeling that was further compounded on when getting dressed brought a new problem to light; it at least had a reasonable explanation. His clothing had all been finely tailored, but he clearly underestimated what his body had been put through and perhaps his own habits before that. The professor’s last visit had led to a few ‘fool’s thrown his way that he’d paid little attention to, his attentions better spent elsewhere. 

Finely tailored indeed and no longer sitting right. The mirror received another hard frown as he tightened his belt and made other small adjustments. It wasn’t perfect, but as he made some last adjustments to his hair and turned about to check himself at different angles, it was far beyond where he had been.

As he sauntered out into his main rooms he weighed the option of leaving now. He hardly needed a guide. On the other hand it wouldn’t do to put Alma in a worse temper. And maybe she did have a point. South Figaro and Narshe had both been invaded. It was entirely possible that Figaro Castle was next and as a man of Vector himself… he grimaced. This wasn’t the way. Alliances not annexation, but they’d shown their views on that three years ago, hadn’t they?

Jowd…

A hard rap at the door sounded and on opening revealed a guard. “It’s time, Ambassador.”

Despite his worries a newfound spring entered Cabanela’s step as he stepped out to join him. “Leeead the way, my good man!”

There were more guards on patrol as they proceeded through the halls. Dark looks were thrown his way and hands remained close to their weapons. Ahead, a door opened for a much kinder sight in an older woman and a child behind her.

Cabanela lit up and stepped forward. “Matron! It’s good to seee you again!”

Her mouth dropped opened and Cabanela nearly recoiled at the horror in her eyes.

“Back inside, Clarice,” she hissed and stepped protectively in front as the girl ducked back into the room.

“And you sir,” she said in a tone that was anything but good. “Good day.” And she backed away into the room, shutting the door with a hard click.

Cabanela stared. They’d always got on well in the past and he certainly had never been on the receiving end of such hate from her before. What…?

The guard scowled and his voice dripped venom. “This way, _sir.”_

He pulled his gaze away from the door and followed after the guard. The place was on high alert; there was no doubt about that. And there was no doubt of the open hostility toward him either.

They would understand in time. He wasn’t with Vector anymore. He could hardly call himself ambassador anymore. And Figaro would not fall.

 

The dining hall was already occupied by courtiers around the table. Chancellor Rindge sat at one side of an empty chair he knew would be Alma’s. Lynne sat by, bent over to pet Missile and standing out against the formal seating of the nobles. It all appeared more formal than he wished, but should have expected after Alma’s absence. A hush fell.

It didn’t last long before a yap broke it and Missile came bounding toward him, tail a blur. Cabanela beamed. Now here was a friendly face. Missile skidded to a stop at his feet and barked.

_“Now you’re Mister Cabanela!”_

Cabanela crouched to scratch him behind the ears. “And I wasn’t befooore?”

Missile’s ears flattened. _“You were very stinky...”_

“Missile!” Lynne chided as Missile gave out a small whine.

“ _I’m sorry Mister Cabanela!”_

Cabanela chuckled. Hard to take offence at that fiercely wagging tail and it seemed absurdly minor compared to the reactions he was earning from the rest of the castle. He turned his crouch into a bow.

“With aaall due apologies to your nose, baby!” He straightened. “Well, Little Warrior, dinner awaits. Shaaall we?”

“ _Oh yes! I’m very hungry and Miss Lynne said there might be chicken.”_

They went together to the table, Missile trotting alongside him until Cabanela took a seat and Missile settled by Lynne’s feet.

Alma entered shortly after to Cabanela’s relief as the tension built once more. She looked better, appearing to have done some cleanup as well after their travels. Better but far too worn. These years had taken their toll and he could only hope he would lighten them sooner than later.

While he studied her, she seemed to hardly notice him as dinner began and the room filled with the low hum of talk. Cabanela brushed it aside. Now wasn’t the time. They would speak after and he contented himself to focus on good quality food.

The stiff atmosphere was more difficult to ignore. A servant placed a dish nearby with rather more force than necessary. Lynne opened her mouth a few times as if to say something only to quickly take a bite of food or a drink instead. Alma’s gaze remained fixed on her plate, her head occasionally inclining to listen to Rindge. Cabanela’s attempts at conversation with anyone who might listen fell flat to cold replies or silence.

A footman went around pouring wine and passed him by only returning when Alma shot him a sharp look. As he moved to pour Cabanela a glass, Cabanela covered the top. Alma raised an eyebrow.

“Not toniiight.”

He knew it likely looked petty. Maybe a small part of him engaged in that, but he knew his reasoning was sound. As tempting as the wine was (and oh it was—when was the last time?), he needed a clear head tonight and he could already feel the creeping tendrils of exhaustion at the edges of his awareness.

“As you wish, sir,” the footman said flatly and moved on.

And so the dinner continued, stiff politeness given as strict manners dictated. Cabanela poked disconsolately at his plate in a sudden bout of restlessness. The meal seemed interminably long and while the food had been good at first now he only felt ill, clearly no longer used to the richer offerings.

He waited, unable to bring himself to finish and occasionally slipped bits of meat off his plate down to Missile. Missile would bump up against his hand, a comforting warmth and a temporary diversion from the rest of this dreary affair.

At last it all came to an end. As everyone departed Cabanela caught Alma’s eye and she granted him a small nod.

They left together, following the route automatically out to the parapets.

 

The air had grown cooler and was soothing as Cabanela leaned against the stone and looked up at the sky. It was too early yet for the stars. Maybe they would remain long enough to watch them together later.

Alma stood at a careful distance, close enough for conversation but far enough to lack companionship. Cabanela glanced at her. Just the two of them like this at last and he realized just how keenly he’d missed her, missed all of this.

“It’s good to be back,” he said.

“Spare me the platitudes.”

“No platitudes about it, baby.” His voice grew soft. “I missed you.” So very much…

“Really. You come back like nothing’s happened and that’s all you can give me?”

She had a point, he supposed. After taking so long to come back and being unable to return with Jowd? Her anger wasn’t misplaced. Then there was South Figaro. He should have known, should have been able to stop it or somehow send warning. Instead he had no idea when it even happened.

“Seeems prison left me out of the loop more than I thought. When was South Figaro invaded?”

“Enough of your games, _Ambassador_ ,” Alma said. “I suppose pretty words weren’t enough anymore?” The words burned and his admission nearly as much.

“I had no idea and that’s the truth of it.” Which seemed impossible. How could such a matter escape his notice? It would have taken time and planning. “And I’m not an ambassador anymore, baby. Just a traitor nooow.”

“Yes, you’re good at that, aren’t you?”

Cabanela blinked. “Alma…”

“And what are you a traitor for this time?” Alma cut in.

Cabanela tried to brush off the sting. “I told you before. I tried to save Jowd and they don’t take kiiindly to prison breaks.”

“ _Now_ you’ve tried to save him? After all this time? Was he no longer a good tool?”

What was she…? Cabanela turned to face her fully. “I’m sorry. It was never meant to take this long. None of this was supposed to happen. If I’d known I would have tried to do everything I could to stop the invasion. And… you were all supposed to be together by now.”

“It’s easy to say, isn’t it?” Alma said. She paused with a frown and some of the heat in her voice gave way to confusion. “What do you mean ‘all’?”

What did _she_ mean? What else could he mean? “Jowd, Kamila, you.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. “I promised her I’d bring him back. That hasn’t changed.”

“Kamila…” She turned pained eyes on him. “Does your cruelty never end? Kamila may be dead for all we know and you dare to bring her into this now?”

“No. She’s safe.” Cruelty? Of course she wasn’t dead. She had to know he’d never allow that.

“What?”

“She’s in Thamasa. The professor’s lookin’ after her. Cidgeon,” he prompted when she continued to look blank.

“That’s not…” she said faintly before her voice strengthened and her eyes flashed with anger. “You told me you didn’t know!”

What was she talking about? He’d said nothing of the sort. “I—”

“All this time she’s been safe and you didn’t tell me? All this time I’ve spent not knowing whether to mourn or not, but never daring to hope, while you fed me lies!”

“Alma.”

Cabanela stepped forward to steady her and reached out to hold her shoulder. She jerked back.

“How dare you!”

The blow came before he could register her movement. His head snapped to the side. He staggered back a step, stunned.

Her face was white, dark eyes staring at him, holes in an expressionless featureless face. He blinked with a sharp gasp and saw only Alma, pale, eyes narrowed to angry slits, teeth bared. Her voice shook with rage.

“Five years. Five years you’ve left me with nothing but lies!”

Words stumbled over each other and he could get nothing out. Five… years? He couldn’t speak.

“The sickest game of them all,” Alma spat and spun on her heel.

He could only watch, frozen, as she stormed away. This wasn’t… this wasn’t supposed to be like this. His face stung where she’d struck him. Where _she’d_ struck him. He struggled to breathe. Five… the number repeated on itself nonsensically.

He couldn’t say how long he stood there, his thoughts whirling in a confusing mass. It was only with great force of will that he was able to turn when Lynne’s voice reached him from behind.

“Cabanela?”

Missile gave off a low growl and barked. “ _I smell fear. Did something attack you? I’ll protect you, Miss Lynne!”_

“Easy boy,” Lynne replied calmly. “Um, Cabanela? …Did something attack you?”

Cabanela stared at the pair. Five… she wouldn’t have made a mistake like that. “How long?” he choked out.

Lynne stared. “Um… We’ll be in Kohlingen tomorrow?” she tried.

What on earth was she talking about? “What year is it?” he snapped.

“1008…?”

“That’s not…” He gripped the stone. “It’s 1006.”

“1008,” Lynne repeated.

Cabanela shook his head. “I left three years ago in 1003.” Why couldn’t she see this?

“Five,” Lynne said slowly. “You left five years ago.”

Five years… He swayed. Lynne caught his arm and he shuddered.

“Maybe we should go inside,” she said. “You really don’t look good.”

“We need to talk.”

“Inside,” Lynne said, her voice firmer than the nervous look she gave him.

He let her guide him into the corridor before he spoke again. “My rooms,” he said shortly.

 

They sat at the small table and even these familiar surroundings felt wrong, a mockery to his previous joy in seeing them. Five years since he’d last been here? It wasn’t possible.

“When did you last see me? What is it I’m supposed to have done?”

Lynne shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Before we found you in South Figaro? Here. You… were trying to take Sissel back. Alma refused you and you came back that night with soldiers. You attacked, set fire to the castle. That’s why it was submerged.”

“That’s not right. I would never attack Figaro. I haven’t been here since I left. Alma said things… things I apparently said.” Lies. She spoke of lies… the ‘sickest game’… “She said I told her I didn’t know about Kamila.”

Lynne looked downcast. “But that’s true, isn’t it?”

“No, Kamila is safe.”

Lynne’s eyes widened. “She’s safe? Really?”

“Yes, and I never said a word about it. How could I have? I haven’t been here.”

“But you have,” Lynne said. She shook her head. “But what about Kamila? Where is she?”

“Safe and far away from all of this, under the care of someone I’d trust with my life. Now tell me everything, what do you know?”

“But where—”

“What do you know?”

Lynne sighed. “You’ve been here a few times. …You really don’t know?”

“Lyyynne,” he said impatiently.

“Right… well I don’t know everything. I wasn’t always here, but you were… more distant I guess? And…”

“ _Creepy!”_ Missile piped up. Lynne winced.

“Sorry,” she said. “But yeah… And Alma was always pretty upset after dealing with you. She wouldn’t talk about it much, but there were deals you tried to make. Trying to bring Figaro under the Empire’s rule. From what she said even King Jowd got used as a bargaining chip. There were other things, I’m sure of it, but like I said she wouldn’t tell me much; she was just… she always seemed so angry and hurt.”

Cabanela’s gut twisted. “That wasn’t me.”

“But it was,” Lynne said tightly. “Not how you used to be before… but you. Just… off. Colder in some ways.”  

“ _You called me a mutt!”_ Missile said.

“And the kids were scared of you. And um…”

Cabanela caught her eye. “I said everything.”

Lynne swallowed. “You seemed… mad. When you came for Sissel, you laughed. You laughed as they set the fires. And before that… in your eyes. Things you said. The looks you’d give.” She shuddered. “Just… wrong.”

Wrong. He tried to force calm into his voice. “And now?”

Lynne stared at him with a thoughtful frown. “You don’t seem the same… but not the same as five years ago either.” She frowned. “You really don’t know anything about this? What do you last remember?”

“Before you found me in South Figaro I was in Vector.”

He tried to think back. Everything made sense, didn’t it? It did until the hazy trip across the ocean when he started to learn more. The seemingly sudden attack on Narshe and South Figaro’s invasion. He could almost laugh. If he was two years out of date of course he knew of neither.

“I found Jowd. I was captured.” The faintest tickle of magic noticed too late… “I was knocked out. When I came to I was in a cell. I escaped to try again.”

“And then you were caught again?” Lynne asked.

“I was disoriented.” An understatement—he’d felt terrible, aching, weak, lost. Only determination drove him. Determination or desperation… “I didn’t quite knooow where I was. I took a wrong turn.” He snorted. “You saw the end results.”

“And we know that just happened recently,” Lynne said. She cocked her head. “You know, you were in pretty rough shape when we found you. Maybe you took a few too many blows to the head.”

“Even were that true, it doesn’t change the facts. I wouldn’t attack Figaro. I wouldn’t lie to Alma.” Or other things she wouldn’t speak of. But what?

Lynne chewed her lip. “Do you… do you really know that? If you can’t remember maybe… maybe you had reasons?”

“No,” Cabanela said flatly. “Not like that.”

Lynne looked thoughtful. “Hmm, a total blank, huh…?”

He bit back a testy remark. How much clearer could he make this?

“Hey,” Lynne continued, “this does remind me of something. When we found Sissel he had no idea what he was doing in Narshe or how he got there. They had him wearing something called a slave crown. It gave them complete control over him by the sounds of it. He had a hole in his memory just like you.”

A slave crown. He’d heard rumours of such a thing. Could it be?

“Could someone have made you do all those things?” Lynne asked but then she frowned. “But you still attacked Figaro and the crown was in Narshe at that point.”

A slave crown. Was it possible even without the locational problems? His head throbbed. “Then it wasn’t me here.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think anyone would believe that,” Lynne said quietly.

“But you do.”

Lynne’s shoulders hunched. “I want to. It’s just… None of this makes any sense.” She sighed. “We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

“ _I believe you, Mister Cabanela!”_ Missile barked.

Lynne gave him a wan smile. “And I gotta believe my dog, right?” She rose from her seat. “I’ll talk to Alma. We’ll figure something out.”

Cabanela waited until she was gone before dragging a hand through his hair. Two years gone from his memory just like that. Two years in which he supposedly did terrible things. That was wrong, but he wouldn’t, couldn’t doubt Alma. Unknown scars, the invasion of South Figaro and a cold reception. He’d gotten an answer and he would never have guessed _this_. How… What had he done? What happened to him?

He abruptly rose, knocking his chair back. Two years. Two more years in which Jowd had been imprisoned. He paced across the floor. Three had been far too many and now five?

 _Kamila’s eyes were wide as she stared up at him. I’ll bring your dad back soon. That’s a promise._ Soon. Soon, soon, soon. Alma accused him of lying—she wasn’t so wrong, was she? What if… No. Jowd was still there. His plan hadn’t changed; he would still return to Vector and he would free him. No other option existed.

He paced back and forth, criss-crossing his room until at the end of one line he abruptly turned on his heel and went to the bathroom. He splashed water on his face, cool against aching eyes. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. He traced the grey along his temples. Two more years of grey, was that it? Thought to be a side effect of the infusion and of using magic. Grey and scars. What had he been involved with? How many unknown battles were fought and against _who?_

He met his own gaze as if he could tell himself the answers. His skin prickled. He tensed, senses screaming at him.

He wasn’t alone.

A spell’s words caught in his throat as he whirled around and was met with blank wall. He glanced back at the mirror. What had he really expected? If there had been something the mirror would have shown it. He saw only himself and suddenly found he couldn’t quite meet his own gaze as he struggled to steady his breath. Too tired. Too frantic. Lynne said he seemed mad. Was he going mad? He needed to pull himself together. He pulled away from the mirror and returned to his main rooms where he fell back into pacing.

His glance fell on the writing desk against one wall and with the sight came a sudden intense longing. If only he could write to the professor. If only he could speak with him. Surely he might have some idea, some insight, but he was away and out of reach. A letter was too risky and where would he send it? He had been in Thamasa, but he could be back in Vector now where a letter was entirely out of the question.

He crossed his floor. Jowd was still there. And back the way he came. Kamila was still safe, nothing would have changed that. The professor would never allow it. Across to the opposite side. He would prove himself. What had he done? And back…

Back and forth until he finally threw himself at his bed and stared into the darkness. He turned restlessly in an effort to find a position to alleviate the ache in his skull. Let sleep come. Maybe he would wake to discover this was all nothing more than a nightmare. That was the only sensible explanation, wasn’t it?

Sink into darkness… Dark holes and a white face. Fingers at his chin. A soft word. Sleeep. …good puppet… Traitor…

He jerked awake and sat up, heart thudding in his chest. Thoughts? Memories? All faded as he tried to grasp them, leaving nothing but a deep pit of fear in his stomach. He flung himself from the bed. What had he done? What had he _done_?

He felt constricted, the spacious room suddenly too small and he went to the door leading out to the small attached balcony.

The air was cold now, the desert heat wholly gone into the night. He breathed deep. This was Figaro, a place that felt like home. It had felt as such. Did it still?

He slumped against the wall and stared up. The stars still shone bright as always, blanketing the sky in their unchanging brilliance. He swallowed. It felt wrong to watch them alone like this, but there was a comfort in their presence. He sought the constellations he knew and lost himself in the dark spaces between. They would watch them together again, all three of them. No doubt about it…

 

“…Cabanela.”

Cabanela woke slowly to sunlight and warmth, though a chill still sat in his bones and muscles protested as he shifted. So he had fallen asleep eventually. And now Alma stood over him. All at once the weight of the night sunk in.

“We’ll be submerging soon,” she said once he focused on her.

He braced himself against the wall and pushed himself up with stiff and aching limbs, regretting his choice of sleeping place. Alma’s mouth thinned.

“I seee,” Cabanela said. Was that all she’d come for? The usual warning alarm would have sufficed.

Alma’s glance flicked away and she shifted her weight, clearly uncomfortable. Then as if a switch had been flipped, she drew herself up, shoulders squared and met his eyes.

“I must apologize for last night,” she said. “I handled myself poorly.”

Such formality and he didn’t want any of it. At least the evening had been personal. That had been Alma, not the cool and detached queen.

“I spoke with Lynne,” Alma continued. “She says you claim to know nothing of the last two years.”

“It’s the truth.”

“It’s convenient, isn’t it?”

He couldn’t remember two of them, but it felt as if the weight of each one of those five years came down to bear. The sight of Alma was suddenly unbearable, the sight of his failures. He looked away, eyes drawn instead to the sands, harsh under the sun’s light.

He should have gone back to Vector. He had no place here. But it was too late now; he had another promise to fulfil. Find Sissel. Find Jowd.

“Believe what you will,” he said tonelessly. “My promises remain.”

Movement drew his attention back to Alma. She stepped forward hand outstretched and stopped abruptly as if pulled up short by an invisible string. Her eyes were wide as if she startled herself as well. She took a deep breath.

“Do you mind?”

He shook his head. She was welcome to whatever she had in mind if it would bring her any sort of peace of mind.

She stepped up to him and touched his face. Her fingers trailed down his cheek, lingering over his cheekbone, tracing out his jawline. He froze, caught between two instincts—to pull away from expected pain, or to lean into her touch and into a different kind of hurt. He could do neither.

Alma drew back, her eyes still searching his face. Her voice lost something of the hard edge, now strained and confused.

“What’s happened to you…?”

She knew these years while he was left with a hole. How was he supposed to answer that? “It seeems you’d know better.”

She averted her gaze. “I wish I did. I can’t trust you. Maybe you really can’t remember, but you said and did those things. You’ve lied and tormented us. You attacked us. You took our love and you broke it. It… was in you to do so.”

His chest tightened. “I know myself. That wasn’t me. I love—”

“Don’t.” She shuddered. “I thought I knew you too. My kingdom can’t afford such mistakes again.”

“And what about you?”

She met his gaze and stood straight and proud, remote. “I am my kingdom.”

No, she was so much more.

“If you think I did these things why does the Queen not have me arrested?”

She flinched. “I…” Her eyes narrowed, more pained than the anger she previously wore. “I suppose some part of me still clings foolishly to hope.”

“Nothing foolish about hope.”

“I used to believe that.”

“Alma… I will bring Jowd and Kamila back. If you can’t trust in me, trust in that.”

She turned away, shoulders slumping and voice quiet. “I hope that’s true. I really do.”

She entered the room. He followed after, waited until she left, and sagged onto the bed.

He sat in a grey haze until the alarm pierced through his awareness. Shortly after the castle shuddered. Barriers rose over the external door and windows plunging the room into darkness. He briefly considered rising to turn the lights on and found he had little energy to move.

He fell back onto the bed as the castle sunk. He felt weighed down. There was no point in wandering now. He snorted bitterly. No point in scaring the residents either. He cast an arm over his eyes. It would be better when they arrived in Kohlingen. Pick up Sissel’s trail again. Move on.

He drifted, sinking into sleep. It would get better. He would make everything better.


End file.
